He stopped with a widening stare. She had glanced carelessly over him from head to foot, and now turned her back on him to take the arm of Carrigan. The movement was slow, deliberate, casual. It left big Maurie Gordon crimson and breathing hard, the butt of open laughter from all.
CHAPTER V. THE SILVESTRE SLIDE.
Carrigan found Jac trembling with excitement, though her face was still calm.
“What the devil,” he began. “I thought Gordon was the man you wanted—”
“Don’t you get me?” she broke in eagerly. “None of those swell Eastern ladies would bat an eye at a bum who came up to them without bein’ introduced.”
“Oh!” said Carrigan. “And who—”
“You will,” she answered without hesitation. “Take me over to a chair and talk with me a minute. Then you can sidestep up to the bar and get a drink. When all the boys flock around and ask about me—”
He growled: “How do you know they’ll flock around and ask about you?”
There was something akin to pity in her smile. The statue was walking away from Pygmalion.
“Take it from me. They will. Your money ain’t any good at that bar—take me to that chair standing away from the rest of them—because every man will be wantin’ to make your acquaintance an’ buy you liquor. Drink beer, Carrie. I hate a breath. Then they’ll ask about me, an’ you tell ’em that I’m straight from the East, an’ don’t understand Western ways. Tell ’em they’ll have to be introduced. An’ don’t bring over any one I don’t point out.”